


truce

by WanderingCreep



Category: Professional Wrestling, WhatCulture RPF
Genre: Battleground 2016, Couch Cuddles, M/M, Milk, Pizza, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingCreep/pseuds/WanderingCreep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"why do people like you?" he asks.<br/>"what, you've never wanted to kiss someone a little and punch 'em a little too?" he replies.</p><p>or, adam and adam have a weird love-hate relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. truce

**Author's Note:**

> i'm whatculture trash, yes.

truce

 

It’s half past one in the morning, and Adam is exhausted.

Staying up to watch the results of Battleground this year was proving to be difficult. Maybe it was just a sign of him getting older, granted his partner in crime was actually a year older than him; still, his stamina wasn’t as plentiful as it used to be, and he accepts that, especially with a head full of Tesco lager and a happy buzz settling in his bones.

For all intents and purposes, Adam Pacitti is doing fine.

Adam Blampied, on the other hand, is probably doing less than fine, judging by how he had gotten up to go to the bathroom twice in one hour, coming back with the collar of his stupid red Pacitti Head shirt soaking wet from splashing water across his face to try and wake himself up. All of the adrenaline he'd accumulated during the bulk of the night had drained out of him so quickly; it was almost like he was never even awake for most of the pay-per-view.

“You know,” says Pacitti as the other Adam comes shuffling back in looking like death warmed over, “for someone as high energy as you were tonight, it sure isn’t pretty when you come down off it.”

Blampied makes a face, mocking Pacitti in his always absurd –but not inaccurate- impression of himself. “Fuck off, mate,” he growls, making his way over to the couch. While he’d been gone, Adam had taken it upon himself to sprawl out across the length of the couch to get comfortable, idly scrolling through his phone as the commercials went on. Being crammed into a small couch with legs as long as his was not a good idea, and he seriously wondered why the company had given them this tiny fucking excuse for a chair knowing full well that Adam was especially tall and couldn't sit for three long hours shoulder to shoulder with another fully grown person.

 When Blampied finally does make it to the couch, instead of shoving Adam’s long legs aside to make space for himself to sit, he just plops down on top of him.

Adam initially startles, first from the sudden weight draping itself across his chest and legs and second from the inadvertent intimacy of it all, because wow -was this a major violation of personal space or what? The only thing that would've made it more of a scene straight out of some stupid romance movie was if Adam had eagerly turned it into an intense makeout session -and he may have just made his ears turn pink, wow.

Blampied doesn’t make a move to remove himself though, just makes himself comfortable against Adam’s chest and fishes his own phone out of his pocket. “What’d I miss?” he asks sounding bored, like he hasn’t just dumped himself all over Adam in front of the world.

“I would’ve made room for you if you’d just waited a second,” Adam says, dodging the prior question and prying his hands from underneath Blampied’s body. “It would’ve been way more comfortable than using my ribcage as a cushion.”

He can feel Blampied shrug against him, feel the vibrations in his chest as he hums deeply. “S’fine. Now we can both stretch out, yeah?” says Blampied offhandedly, opening his Twitter feed. Probably only did it just because he could, the smug bastard, just to punctuate that he's not going anywhere.

Adam sighs. “Why do people like you?”

“I’m not moving,” sings Blampied, grating on Adam’s nerves with how flippant he is. “So come off it already.”

Adam rolls his eyes, hears Blampied laughing and resists the urge to just roll off the couch dumping them both to floor just to get him to shut up. Instead, he stretches one arm behind his head and opens another app on his phone. May as well get comfortable since it looks like he’s going to be here for a while.

“I’m hungry,” comes Blampied’s voice, rumbling through Adam’s ribcage ten minutes later.

Adam cranes his neck to look down at him, a weird motion to complete since other Adam's head is currently resting under his chin, and raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“I’m gonna order pizza,” Blampied mumbles, already tapping in the website address of a nearby pizza place in his phone. “And you can’t have any.”

“I don’t care.”

Blampied raises his head slightly to look at Adam. “Who spat in your lager, huh? What, are you still crotchety because I said you smell weird?”

“It’s Old Spice, you loser.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Blampied groans, rolling his eyes like _Adam_ is the problem. “I was only kidding. Can’t have the folks at home thinking we actually like each other, yeah?”

Blampied sits up a little, and as much as Adam wants to not look at him and not have this conversation, it’s kind of hard to do when the guy in his lap is bracing his hands on his shoulders and pretty much keeping anchored to the couch.

“Tell you what,” Blampied says low and quiet, his smile more mischievous than Adam deems necessary or safe. The other Adam always had a way of coming up with dumb ideas, and he usually had this very look across his face whenever he brought them up.“How about I let you have half my pizza and let you kiss me. That better?”

Adam looks at him flatly. “ _Why_ would I want that?”

Blampied’s smile doesn’t go away. In fact, it widens. “Because you like pizza. And what’s better than pizza and sex?”

“Whoa, you said one kiss; we’re not going to tear each other’s clothes off and have hot pizza sex in front of a camera,” says Adam, underhandedly trying to look at his phone while Blampied continues to hover over him.

“Kinky,” Blampied purrs.

“ _Why_ do people like you?”

“Do we have a deal then, Pacitti?”

Adam narrows his eyes at him. Blampied looks smug, triumphant even though Adam hasn’t given him an answer. He already knows what he’ll say anyway. He’s always been good about getting what he wants, even though Adam tries his damndest to not to.

“Fine. But I want to pick what we get on the pizza.”

 

 


	2. hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> milk is awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set after the Night of Champions milk forfeit.

hatred

 

 

“I hate you.”

Adam hiccups and groans miserably into the curve of Adam Pacitti’s neck. Cringing, Pacitti nearly drops his half-drunk cargo, causing him to squeak in the most unmasculine manner.

“That’s a lie, and if you throw up on me, I will drop you,” mutters Pacitti.

“This is your fault anyway,” murmurs Adam into his consort’s hoodie. “If you hadn’t made me drink all that fucking milk…”

Pacitti glanced back at him over his shoulder, pausing to readjust Adam on his back.

“Ah, don’t shake me,” Adam moaned.

“I’m serious; if you throw up on me, I’m leaving you on the sidewalk for some homeless blokes to find.”

“You won’t,” says Adam, sounding for all the world like he was smiling his smug grin, “you like me too much.”

“You underestimate me, Blampied,” says Pacitti, equally as smug. He could play that game too.

Adam snuffled into his hoodie, humming sleepily. “Just take me home.”

Pacitti snorts. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m dropping you on your train and then I’m going home.”

“I don’t think I can make it,” Adam mumbles.

“Why are you so sleepy anyway? I thought you’d be more…sick. I mean you are sick, but you’re just really sleepy,” says Pacitti.

“I just drank two gallons of milk, dummy,” snaps Adam, but it comes out more like a mopey grumble rather than a scathing remark like he’d intended it to be. Pacitti can’t help laughing at how childish he sounds at the moment.

“And?”

“Do you even read those fucking cards in that god awful board game?” says Adam. “Milk has an amino acid in it called tryptophan that makes you sleepy. Duh.”

For a moment, there’s a long pause.

“Really?” says Pacitti slowly. “How did you know that?”

“I’m not pretending to know everything, love. That’s not just my character,” murmurs Adam. “Not unlike being a tall bastard is your true nature.”

“I could drop you still.”

 

 

Blampied is nearly asleep by the time Adam Pacitti gets the door open.

He flicks on the light, rolls his eyes when Adam whimpers at the sudden intrusion and then turns them off again.

Slinky hisses quietly from her terrarium as they enter, probably a little annoyed from the sudden commotion in the otherwise quiet apartment. She’s not the only one.

Adam plods into the bedroom, stopping at the mattress on the floor surrounded by a messy pool of sheets and blankets. He hadn’t really finished moving in just yet; before the mattress had been delivered, he’d had a makeshift bed on the floor made of towels and a few blankets, which was literally the worst fucking idea he’d ever had. Bu now, he’d upgraded to at least a mattress on the floor, so it wouldn’t be too bad.

Wasn’t _supposed_ to be too bad.

Was probably going to be _worse_ with Blampied taking up half of it, sick and probably radiating way too much body heat for Adam to be comfortable throughout the night. One thing he’d learned about his on-again-off-again accomplice was that he was basically a human furnace. It didn’t make any kind of sense, thinking back on it now. He was English, for fuck’s sake. It never got above eighty degrees where they lived, it was always chilly and the sun was a rare occurrence that warranted its own all day news report.

It made absolutely no sense for Adam Blampied to be as hot as he was all the time.

Adam rolls Blampied off of his back, snorting back laughter when he hits the mattress like a sack of bricks and makes a whining sound unbecoming of a man his age.

“Don’t shake me,” he whines, already sprawling on his side across the mattress. He wasn’t as tall as Adam was, but at the moment, he was all legs, taking up most of the available space. “I swear I’ll puke on everything you ever loved.”

“Not in my bed, you won’t,” Adam grumbles, shimmying out of his sweater. He wanders off into another part of the apartment to get his jeans off and change into a different pair of boxers, and by the time he gets back to his bedroom, Blampied has made himself comfortable under a blue blanket that Adam is particularly fond of and his jeans are discarded carelessly at the foot of the mattress.

“You’d better have some underwear on, you absolute knob end,” Adam mumbles as he steps over the lump on his mattress.

“If I wasn’t, I don’t think you’d mind,” says Blampied, sounding too smug and flirtatious for someone who was supposed to be as sick as a dog.

“I don’t know why people like you.”

“You always say that. Haven’t you ever wanted to punch someone a little and kiss ‘em a little too?”

Adam doesn’t answer that. A simple ‘ _no’_ is too strong a word (and it would be a lie, now wouldn’t it?) and a ‘ _yes’_ would give Blampied all the affirmation he needed to hold it over Adam for the rest of their lives that he actually enjoyed his company enough to indulge him.

Blampied sighs though and lies on his stomach. “I _am_ wearing underwear though,” he grumbles into the mattress. Quieter, he adds, “ _killjoy_.”

“Move over,” says Adam, dropping down next to him on the mattress. “You’re taking up too much space.” It takes Blampied a moment to comply, eventually sliding over so that Adam and his uselessly long legs can comfortably crawl into bed. Adam shakes his head.

“I should’ve just left you on the couch,” he mutters, taking off his glasses. With Pacitti, it’s kind of hard to tell if he’s being serious or if he’s just being mean-spirited. His and Adam Blampied’s relationship is a weird one –Adam would be the first one to tell you that if you asked. It involves rude names and creative swear words, endless teasing and affectionately offensive words whispered in each other’s ears so that no one else hears.

“Well, fuck you too then, you insufferable dick,” he says. “I could strangle you.”

“I’m too tall. You’d never reach,” says Adam, talking more to the cieling than to Blampied.

“You’ve sunk low enough for me to reach.”

Adam gives him a look.

Blampied smiles ruefully. Small victory.

They leave it at that.

 

 

Adam wakes up a few hours later to the sound of bumping around.

He rolls over to find the other half of the bed mysteriously devoid of any sign of other Adam. It’s still warm on his side of the bed, almost like the man was actually still there, but the bumping in the other parts of the apartment suggested otherwise. Adam peers through the open bedroom door, trying to see where Blampied is, and it takes him a moment to realize that the lights are still off. That idiot hadn’t even bothered to turn them on and was probably wandering around looking for the bathroom in the dark.

Adam rolled onto his back and sighed at the ceiling. _Why_ did he bring Blampied back here of all places? He checks his phone, squinting at the bright light.

4:15.

They’d only been asleep for, like, two hours. It wasn’t Blampied’s fault though; he did just drink two gallons of milk before bed. Still, the bumping was still happening, so Adam begrudgingly gets up to go help him before he tripped over Slinky’s tank or kicked a hole into the wall by accident. He easily makes his way down the hall to the bathroom, surprised to find the light on inside and noise coming from the otherside of the door.

So Blampied had made it to the bathroom after all.

He raps his knuckles on the door with one hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other. Oh, god, he could feel a headache coming on, probably equal parts exhaustion and having to deal with this kind of shit this early in the morning.

“Adam,” he calls, raising his voice as high as he can without it cracking in disuse, which, to be fair, isn’t much this early on in the morning. “Adam.”

There’s a sound. Definitely Adam.

He’s making a noise like creature from some ancient crypt, panting and sounding for all the world like he’s trying not to die in the bathroom of all places. Adam tries the knob, finds it unlocked, calls out, “I’m coming in. You better have pants on.”

Upon opening the door, Blampied does indeed have pants on. He’s sitting –well, more like lying miserably- against the toilet bowl, one arm cradling his head against the seat. It smells of spoiled milk in there, and Adam resists the urge to just close the door and leave Blampied to suffer in here alone.

He did make him drink the milk, after all.

“I’m gonna assume that you just regurgitated all that milk into the toilet and are not just vomiting blood as we speak,” he says helpfully, leaning against the doorjamb.

“This is the worst,” Blampied manages through pants. “Can you get legitimately fucked over from milk?”

Adam shrugs. “I mean, it’s got calcium in it; it’s supposed to healthy. And what are you asking me for? Aren’t you supposed to be the milk expert?”

“Fuck you,” mumbles Blampied miserably. Adam sighs and pads back to the bedroom. A minute later he returns with his phone, plops down on the sink and searches Google for possible remedies for a milk overdose. Blampied, meanwhile, keeps gagging into the toilet.

Apparently, you _can_ get sick from drinking a fuck ton of milk. Huh.

“Okay, Google says that you can drink mint tea to settle your stomach, so I’ll try that,” Adam says after a few minutes of searching the internet. He glances up at Blampied, who had gone quiet a few minutes ago and furrows his eyebrows. “Are you sweating?”

“Feels like I’m freezing,” mumbles Blampied. He looks down at his black t-shirt. “I feel sweaty though. I hate everything.”

Adam gets to the kitchen with a quickness.

When he gets back, Blampied has moved. He’s now taken up residence in the bathtub, leaning over the edge so the rest of him can stretch out inside. Adam leaves the tea on the sink and does his best to wrangle his housemate out of the bathtub without moving him too much.

He would legitimately consider murder if Blampied actually threw up on him while he was trying to get him out. Eventually, he manages to half-drag him down the hall back to bed and it takes some coaxing to get some tea into him, but soon Blampied is nursing the mug of mint tea like a lifeline and Adam is sitting across from him crosslegged with his head in one hand, trying not to doze off because god forbid he actually leave Blampied to his own devices like this.

“We’re never doing the milk challenge again,” says Adam.

“You’re goddamn right,” Blampied agrees, sounding as sluggish as Adam was feeling. Adam gets up then, goes to the box of clothes that served as his dresser until he got the rest of his furniture in, and digs around inside for a shirt. When he finds one, he throws it at Blampied, says, “Put that on. You can’t sleep in a sweaty shirt, that’s disgusting.”

It’s a black and white baseball t-shirt. It’s a little fitting on Blampied, since Adam is a little skinnier that he is, but that’s fine. Blampied finishes the tea and then he’s out like a light. With him finally asleep, Adam tries to do the same, at least until they have to get up in three hours.

Maybe he’ll just call out. God knew they deserved a day off after a night like this.

He’s halfway dreaming, near unconscious levels of sleep, when something pokes him in the back.

“Adam,” comes Blampied’s voice. He sounds sleepy, like he’d just been about to pass out too.

Adam makes a noise that sounds like acknowledgement.

“You should hold me.”

Adam blinks.

“What?”

Blampied makes a sound like an exasperated sigh and rolls over, tugs at Adam’s shoulder until he does the same and inserts himself into the space between them, wrapping Adam’s arm around his waist.

What?

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cold. What does it look like? We’re doing like the penguins do, my friend. Now shut up and go back to sleep,” says Blampied like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“We have, like, fifty blankets-“ Adam begins, but Blampied shushes him. Like, really ‘shushes’ him. Makes the sound and the finger to his lips and everything.

“Fuck me, you’re annoying,” he murmurs.

Adam glares at the back of Blampied’s head, but he doesn’t move. He really needs to stop letting Blampied have his way all the time. He smells like mint from the tea, which he’d gladly take over the scent of milk. They’d both had enough of milk for one day, and at least he was finally being quiet for once.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant remember if adam's snake is actually named slinky or something close to it. please correct me.


End file.
